Devil's Vow

44. Her Wounded Devil

Laura

My husband is on top of me, his mismatched eyes boring into mine, flickering with an intensity that sends shivers down my spine. I should shove him off, I should feel pain, fear, anything-but there is only the sickening warmth of a thick liquid seeping through my clothes, soaking into my skin. Is this what dying feels like? An eerie numbness, where pain surrenders to the silence of blood?

He smiles-a rare fragile curve of his lips that would be almost beautiful if it weren't for the circumstances. Here in Italy, people won't believe me if I told them he smiled, but here, pinned beneath his weight, it terrifies me. His mismatched eyes soften, the hard edges melting away, and I find myself swallowing, trapped in their haunting yet beautiful gaze, unable to look away.

"You are beautiful, Mia Cara." He whispers, his voice a soft rasp that slices through the fog in my mind. He smiles again, the warmth in his eyes a sharp contrast to the chill creeping over my body.

I finally find the strength to move, my hand reaching down between us, my hand reaching down between us, feeling the slick sticky warmth. Blood. Red. Blood. My heart hammers as I bring my hand up, the crimson staining my skin. But it's not mine. The panic sets in. It's his.

A spike of terror seizes my chest, a raw, primal fear that surges through me. Panic claws up my throat as I shove him off, his body heavy and unyielding. When he rolls to the side, I see it clearly-blood blooming across his chest, his shirt drenched in it.

My mind races, my thoughts a tangled mess. My husband is bleeding. I.... I shot Andreas. I shot my husband.

I scream, my voice tearing through the night, as Andreas stares up at me, his eyes gentle yet haunted. Tears and rain blur my vision, but I grab his face, forcing him to look at me, desperate to keep him anchored to this world. "You don't get to die, you bastard!"

My voice cracks, raw and trembling, my fingers pressing into his cheeks. Thunder rolls in the distance and the rain showers continue, cascading over us in torrents, mixing with the blood between us. "You do not get to die n me!" I scream again, my throat raw, each word a plea and a curse. "I'm so sorry," I choke out, my voice barely a whisper as his bleeding continues.

My hands tremble as they fall from his face, my eyes frantically darting around, searching for the gun. Just then, Enrico and his men show up, bursting into the scene, their footsteps pounding through the rain. They reach us, and without hesitation, Enrico motions for the men to lift Andreas, ignoring my desperate protests as I cling to him.

Enrico's gaze cuts through me, hard and unyielding, as Andreas coughs, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. Each cough twists like a knife in my chest, each sound twisting the knife even deeper. They hoist him up, and we rush to the elevator, the ride down feels endless-each floor and second a torment to my soul.

When we finally reach the lobby, an ambulance is waiting, red and blue lights flashing like fiery heartbeat in the dark. I expect Enrico to stop me, but he only glances away as I slip into the ambulance beside Andreas. His body lies still, his face pale, his breaths shallow and every jolt of the ride feels like another blow.

I clutch his hand, my tears falling steadily as the city lights blur past. "Don't you dare die." I whisper, my voice breaking as the minutes stretch, each one agonizing, until finally, we reach the hospital. I hold on to him, mutter a silent prayer to whoever is listening, that he'll do the same.

We make it to the hospital and the paramedics speak a string of Italian to the ER doctors that approach us. Andreas is wheeled into the ER, and it doesn't take a while before he is being prepped for surgery. I see Enrico making a phone call while his men stop the doctors from touching Andreas. I want to yell, to scream and ask questions. But those questions die in my throat as a new set of doctors and nurses approach the ER and the hospital doctors agree without protesting.